


Subject 13

by akelios



Category: Criminal Minds, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Dresden Files Kink Meme, Gen, Serial Killers, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-11
Updated: 2011-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:26:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akelios/pseuds/akelios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is killing members of the supernatural community. Harry goes missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subject 13

**Author's Note:**

> Written ages ago for this prompt on the Dresden Files kink meme:
> 
> A serial killer or a powerful warlock is targeting wizards. Bodies have been found, and now Harry is missing. Murphy, Kincaid, Michael, and John all owe Harry, and now they must find him before he dies.

**TRANSCRIPT OF DVD RECORDING MARKED EX.33, CASE NUMBER 14-256C-IL**

"Subject Ten was a disappointment. I don't know what the difference is, what the missing factor is with the ones that I've caught. Was- was he a fluke? No. No. He can't have been. I saw what he did. I saw it. I made miracles happen with subject One's refined material. I just need to find out what's missing. There's something wrong with the ones I've been catching. I may need to be more selective. Hopefully number Eleven will offer a clue, a path to the solution."

*end first entry*  
*second entry*

"Nothing." *video wavers as static rolls across the screen* "-ven lasted longer. Nearly two weeks at the current dosages of sedatives and antibiotics. See Eleven's file for complete workup and details of the mixtures administered." *there is a break in the video, where it was paused and then resumed* "Eleven yielded no significant advances in understanding or refinement of the product. I'm beginning to suspect that my source material is flawed. I already have Twelve picked out."

*end second entry*  
*third entry*

"Twelve had an averse reaction to the process." *coughing* "I did manage to get one acceptable batch out of Twelve. It's not enough though. I'm certain I need better source material. I've been." *another pause as the recording is stopped and then resumed* "I've been being too careful. There are stronger subjects out there. If there is a correlation between strength of the source material and the efficacy of the resulting product, and I can't help but believe that there is, then my work will not be served by drawing the process out. I need better material for Thirteen. I'm going to have to go outside of the area, I believe. If someone of the necessary skills was nearby, I'd know it already.

*end third entry*  
*fourth entry*

"I've found Thirteen. Or. He's strong. Stronger than One, even. I'm going to have to be careful. No simple capture with this one. But the risk is worth it. It has to be. I've got to take a break from the work for a little while anyway. Something dug up the dross left over from Four. It's all over the news. A month. A month is plenty of time for this to die down. They won't find the rest of them. Four was a rush job. The disposal. Extenuating circumstances. In a month, I'll be ready for Thirteen. Plenty of time. It'll be better this way."

*end fourth entry*  
*fifth entry*

"It worked! I can't believe I did it!" *laughter* "I had to go all the way into Chicago for Thirteen, but he'll be worth it. All of it. Even when he was going down, I could feel him fighting! I could feel it rolling across my skin and I was terrified. What if I'd miscalculated the dosage? But he dropped, eventually. I only noticed a few singe marks and we got away clean. I'm anticipating no problems with Thirteen. I'm certain he's the one. I've got another twenty minutes before I'm back at the lab. My work won't be able to begin until tomorrow. It's okay. I've got him. I've got time. Thirteen is perfect."

*end fifth entry*  
*end disc*

~

_Monday morning_

"Have there been any further developments in regards to the disappearances you were tracking?" I directed my gaze down the table to the new head of my own special investigations team. Lynn cleared her throat and opened the file in front of her.

"The police in Woodridge have made no headway on the body that was discovered in Crabtree Park last month. Female, approximately thirty to thirty-five years old. Heavy predation as well as exposure to the elements had taken their toll, so the remains are not in ideal shape for analysis or identification. You all have the reports?" She took a quick look around the table and was greeted with a chorus of nods. "Then I don't need to go over the details again. Our preliminary investigation indicates that the most likely candidate is Heather Villareal, age thirty-three. She resided in Naperville, and was employed as a paralegal for a small firm there. Ms. Villareal was reported missing by her brother six months ago.

"I believe that Ms. Villareal is part of the group of missing persons that we've been tracking. Members of the occult fringe. As you are all aware, there have been twelve disappearances in the occult community in the past year. While these people do have a tendency to live and move off grid, these twelve do not fit the typical profile of those who simply get up and leave. They have all been settled, established members of their respective communities, with heavy ties therein. In addition, they have each been fairly minor talents, magically speaking. It is my opinion that these disappearances are the result of something preying on the occult community. If you would turn to the map on page six?

"As I've detailed, the abductions are moving in a fairly linear pattern, and they are coming closer to Chicago. The last recorded missing person that I believe to have been involved, Mr. Wellborn, was taken from his home in Oak Park. Sooner or later, this creature will come to Chicago and begin preying on members of the community here as well."

"Release a warning to the community, standard procedure. You have no information on what the creature may be?" I turned to Ms. Gard. She straightened slightly in her chair.

"There has been no trace. No surges of magical energy or large creatures moving through the Nevernever. I have been unable to track anything moving into our area within the time frame provided. You are certain it could not have been here before the first disappearance?" Gard directed her gaze at Lynn, who returned the look with a thin smile.

"Certainty doesn't enter into it. It is unlikely that something with a kill rate like this could have been living anywhere for very long without disappearances. Have you looked at the timeline I provided? Each disappearance is approximately three weeks apart. It's hardly the most accelerated rate we've seen, but it's not something that could be hidden. Not when we're looking for it. It's something new to the area."

"Your _opinion_ is noted. The fact remains, I have nothing to indicate a supernatural predator moving into the area. We've checked on known creatures within the territory, and they are all in their usual habitats, no changes of pattern or behavior. I will continue the search, of course."

"Then until we have further information, I believe that will be all. Thank you." The meeting broke up, with Lynn and Ms. Gard continuing to snarl at one another as they exited the room. I sighed and rose, stretching. Meetings. One would think, as head of a criminal empire, that I would be able to stop attending meetings. Instead, it seemed I had more and more of them to fill my day. It nearly made me nostalgic for my days at the street level.

Half an hour later Lynn was being buzzed into my office. She was frowning, clearly puzzled and more than a little annoyed.

"What is it?"

"Sir, I. I apologize. I'm pretty sure that this is a prank, one of the guys hazing the new boss." She gave me a quick, pale smile. Lynn took a deep breath that sighed as she let it back out. "There's a mouse in the lobby. And, I quote, 'I think the dog wants to talk to the Boss'." She shook her head, half-laughing, until she realized that I had risen and was half way through the door. "Sir?"

"Not _a_ mouse. Mouse." Dresden's fittingly over-sized dog. Dresden took far too much care with his pets for the beast to be roaming the city accidentally, and since a message had been sent up and not the man himself, I assumed that Dresden wasn't with him.

The dog was no longer in the lobby. My men had convinced him to follow them into one of the small conference rooms on the ground floor. It took me only a few minutes to reach them but someone had found a bowl of water, which Mouse was lapping up with what seemed to be a grateful air. His head lifted when I entered the room and he whined, rising from his crouch and limping over to me. There was blood in his fur, dried and tacky against my hands when I ran them over his sides. None of the wounds seemed to be actively bleeding.

"Find a veterinarian." Lynn, who had been staring at Mouse, made an affirmative noise and hurried from the room, her cell phone in hand. "What happened to you?" He whined and butted my hand, his mouth opening to take hold of my arm, teeth careful around my flesh. The men with me stiffened and I waved them down. Mouse started to walk, pulling me after him.

"Mr. Pasinella, if you would have the car brought around?" I extracted my arm from the dog's grip. "Mouse. If you will wait a moment." The dog huffed, but remained by my side. 

We drove with Mouse in the front passenger seat, his head out the window, directing our path. It wasn't a very long drive. I knew where we would end up a few minutes before we pulled into the parking lot of Dresden's office building. His hideous car was in its spot, the ebb and flow of normal business traffic moving around it and us. Mouse jumped from my car and trotted over to the Volkswagon, sniffing at the ground and looking back at me.

There was nothing so helpful as an incriminating stain, or a torn bit of clothing on the ground beside Dresden's car. Mouse crouched, sliding his nose under the vehicle and made a sound that resembled a bark, but was nothing like what you would expect to come out of a creature his size.

"Boss? You want us to check out the building?" Hendricks and the men he'd brought with us stood behind me, waiting.

"I think not. Check under the car."

They did so. Gary, the one who had chosen the side Mouse had been sniffing at, made a surprised sound and pulled back after less than a minute.

"What is it?" There was a strain to my voice that I couldn't entirely conceal. The men were wise enough to say nothing about it.

Gary held up his hand, offering me a small ring of keys, likely Dresden's, though he didn't keep identifiable doodads on it. And Dresden's pentacle. The chain was broken, the bent and tattered amulet smeared with the smallest amount of blood.

I took it from him and lifted my head, looking around the parking lot once more.

"Boss?"

"Contact Ms. Gard. Find him."

~

It was cold. Cold enough that if there'd been any lights I could have seen my breath in the air. Cold enough that my lungs burned with each breath, making it hard to breathe.

I'd woken to the blackness and the cold. I couldn't move. Everything was thick, distant. My thoughts slow and slippery, falling away from me before I could look at them. I couldn't tell how long I'd been...where ever I was. Flashes of half-remembered things came to me, fading almost as quickly as they came. The parking lot at my office. Mouse. Something hitting Mouse and then my dog lying still in the middle of the night dark asphalt. Pain, my limbs jerking out of control and then someone crouching over me. A sting at my neck. Then the cold and the dark.

Light exploded into being, blinding me and crawling over my skin, burning where it touched. I flinched, cried out a little in surprise. The light wasn't right. It was too sharp, stabbing into my eyes, through them into my skull, tearing at the soft squishy bits.

Footsteps, and then a dark shadow over my head. Fingers touched my face, a spot on the side of my neck. They moved down my chest, my arm. Something in my arm jostled as they touched it, added pressure to it. I made myself focus, blinking until I could see them.

They didn't look right. Everything about them was too sharp, like they were glowing, emitting their own jewel colored lights. He was darker than she was. Dirty blond hair that almost hid his eyes, stubble, loose clothes that hung off of him. Her dark brown hair glowed in the light, a bright dress of blues and green swirling as she walked around and around us at a dizzying pace.

"Hello Thirteen!" She stopped, leaned over me. I tried to say something, but it was still too cold and my throat seized, dry and brittle.

"Don't talk to him. You get attached." Her eyebrows rose and she pouted. He moved away and the scrape of metal against metal against glass rasped over me.

"He's such a kill joy. Don't listen to him, Thirteen. I'm sure you're the one. You'll be here with us for a long, long time." She laughed, low and husky, and licked her lips.

"Stop it!" He was back. He reached over me, shoved her until she fell away, out of sight. I didn't hear her hit the floor. I still couldn't move. Nothing worked.

A faint, distant pinch on my arm. She came back, small hands cold against the frozen flesh of my face.

"Only blood? I thought we were going to..." Her hands touched my other arm, nails tingling against the curve of muscle beneath the skin.

"It's only a preliminary sample. I don't want to get ahead of myself."

"I thought you said you were done delaying." Her voice was hard, angry. "Don't you want-"

"Yes! You know I do!" The sounds of flesh hitting flesh as he slapped her. Light broke like glass against her earrings.

"Then get going. Just a little bit. It won't do any harm." He looked away, then back to her.

"Fine. Suggestions?"

"The thigh." Fingers against my legs, almost unfelt through the jeans and the cold. "He's got such long legs..." She giggled.

A line of pressure against my leg and the thick, living sound of blue jeans tearing. It set my teeth on edge. Blunt, rough fingers against my skin, warm and then the pain, deep and stabbing. It described the rough outlines of my body, nerves fighting back into life against the cold, against the distance. I moved, finally, slow and unsteadily. I was held down, cold metal against my skin, wrists and ankles, throat. I didn't have the voice to scream, and then it was over, the pain throbbing but no longer expanding. I could hear a wet, heavy sound. Flesh on metal.

"Bandages. Don't forget to clean Thirteen up."

"I _know_." More movement, pressure, and the feeling of blood sliding down my thigh stopped. Footsteps again, moving away. The light went out and I was alone with the dark and the cold; pain and a slow moving confusion the only things I could hold onto. I lay, breathing, fighting to put the jagged pieces of my thoughts together until the darkness slipped inside of me and smothered conscious thought entirely.

~

_Monday afternoon_

"There's been nothing, sir. We started our searches from the parking lot where his car was located, his apartment, and MacAnally's. No trace has been found. We're working in a grid pattern, but I don't have high hopes for any success. I took the liberty of dispatching some people to check at the Murphy residence as well as Raith's condo. Raith is out of town and his place is empty, no sign that Dresden has been there or tried to get there. I haven't heard back from the man I sent to Bucktown." I leaned back in my chair in an effort to quell the urge to rise and pace about my office.

"What about a tracking spell?"

Gard shook her head.

"I need something of his to use in the spell. We don't have any samples from Mr. Dresden and he's careful about not leaving anything that could be used against him like that lying around.

"I've examined the parking lot, assuming that Dresden was attacked and abducted from there. I can find only faint traces of Dresden's own magic, but it's little more than background levels. Not what would be expected if a battle had occurred between Dresden and a supernatural foe. I believe it's a strong possibility that our attacker is from the mundane side of things."

"You believe that a mortal, with no magic at all, attacked and subdued Mr. Dresden without leaving any signs of a struggle?" My fingers traced the edge of Dresden's amulet. It was a heavy, cold weight in my pocket.

"I am merely examining every possibility. There is no evidence of magic being employed in any of these abductions. Perhaps the reason we have been unable to locate the creature killing magical practitioners is that it is not a creature." Her blue eyes met mine steadily, without a trace of emotion, though I knew that she wasn't without feeling any more than I was. "Perhaps we should-"

"No." I shook my head, thinking. I did my best not to pull on that particular rope unless I had to. It came with cost, as everything did. It was not, yet, time for that. "Not yet. We'll keep the possibility in reserve." The intercom pinged before we could say anything further.

"Yes?"

"Sir, Sergeant Murp- I'm sorry, Ms. Murphy is out here. She'd like to speak with you." Interesting. She was taking pains to be here unofficially, then.

"I see. Does she happen to have Mr. Bowling with her?" There was the faint murmur of voices away from the speaker.

"She says he's in the trunk."

I exchanged a look with Ms. Gard. Hers was distinctly more pleased than I thought the situation warranted. 

"If she agrees to come up unarmed, send her up. And see about getting Mr. Bowling out of her car."

Karrin Murphy stormed into my office less than five minutes later. Her coat flapped open, displaying the empty holster beneath her arm. Ms. Gard did her level best to be unobtrusive, off to my right and I remained seated behind my desk, the warm presence of Dresden's dog at my feet.

"What are you playing at?" I merely quirked my eyebrows at her. It was a reaction designed to irritate, and it did not fail. Ms. Murphy snarled and crossed the distance between us, leaning over to stab her finger at my desk in emphasis. People who are angry are not thinking, and it makes it easier to deflect them from things you don't wish them to consider. Given Ms. Murphy's deep seated hatred of myself and everything I stood for, adding a little fuel to her fire wasn't hard and fit with her image of me as an arrogant ass who mocked her and everything she believed in. "Sending one of your goons to my house? Are you crazy enough to think you can intimidate me?"

"Have you seen Harry lately?"

The question took her back for a second. She paused, then straightened. Her anger remained but it had changed.

"You really need to leave Harry alone, Marcone. Sending people around to his friends' houses? That's like a declaration of intent, you know that. He's going to stop being distracted by bigger, badder shit one day and blow you to hell. And if you start pressing your luck, that day's going to come sooner than you think."

"I'll take that as a 'no', then, shall I?" I rolled my chair back, just enough to allow Mouse to move. The dog had begun shifting his weight when Ms. Murphy entered the room. He ambled out from beneath the desk but did not walk around into her line of sight. "I have reason to believe that Harry has been injured, or abducted. My men are searching the city for him, beginning at the most likely places for him to go to ground, including your home. I do apologize if we disturbed you."

She shifted her weight, rocking back on her heels.

"If Harry was abducted, the most likely suspect would be you, Marcone. Assuming you're right and Harry's in trouble, why in the hell would you be looking for him? I'd think you'd throw a party if Harry vanished."

"In spite of our personal issues, I am well aware of the stabilizing influence Harry exerts on the city. What I want is what is good for Chicago. Harry, pyromaniac tendencies aside, is good for my city." Mouse chose that moment to wander out from behind my desk. Ms. Murphy's sharp retort died in her throat as she spotted the dog, walking freely in my office. Our eyes met and I knew she understood. If I had done something to Harry, Mouse would not be walking calmly towards her with me sitting not two feet away. The dog had killed before in defense of his master, and there was no reason to think he would not do so again.

"Dammit!" She scratched Mouse's head when he came to stand beside her. She took in his battered and bandaged state. "Okay. Tell me what you know."

I outlined our knowledge as quickly as I could. She took it in, her lips tightening as she made the obvious connection between the other disappearances and Harry's apparent abduction.

"You've known that people were being kidnapped, being murdered, and you didn't say anything to the police?" Rage colored her voice. 

"I have no proof. Merely a logical chain of thought. These people have nothing in common, bar their involvement in the supernatural community. Many of them were so quiet about it, so lightly talented, that their connection may not have been noticed by those who don't believe. If I had something that was actionable and best handled by the police, I would have ensured that the information made it's way to the proper hands. If I may make a suggestion?"

She nodded, reluctance in every line of her body.

"We both want the same thing. Harry Dresden returned, safely and as quickly as possible."

She snorted, an amazingly expressive sound.

"Perhaps not for the same reasons, but none the less. Much as it will pain you to admit, I think we would be best served by working together. I have access to resources that you do not, and you are far more familiar with the intimacies of his life."

"In addition to actually being a law enforcement officer, which makes this my responsibility and not yours anyway, _Baron_?"

"As you like. The fact remains, I believe we can best help Harry by helping one another." For a police officer, Ms. Murphy was remarkably easy to read. I watched her concern and her fear for Harry war with her disgust for me and anything that I might have touched. Her doubts over my intentions fought with her knowledge that time was of the essence. The internal debate didn't last long, and when the decision came she committed to it whole-heartedly. She would help, but she would also keep an eye on me, in case I decided to turn on her, or I really did have something to do with the abduction. I'd have been disappointed with her if she had decided any other way. I smiled at her and her eyes narrowed.

"Just for this. I'm not giving you a pass, Marcone. We find Harry, we get him back and we take care of whatever or whoever is killing people. Then we go back to business as usual." She rested her hand on Mouse's snout, her fingers small against the size of his jaws. Even knowing the dog would never hurt her I had to quash a thin edge of concern. "I'll take Mouse and check Harry's place. You won't have been able to get in there."

"Correct. I was leaving the incendiary activities for later in the day." Her mouth twitched, though whether she had suppressed a smile or a frown was impossible to tell.

"I'll check there and get in touch with a couple of people, friends. See if they've heard from Harry. I'll call you in an hour."

"In the mean time I will continue to have the city searched. I've sent out subtle inquiries to some of the independent operators within the city and should hear back from the last of them shortly. Perhaps it would be more expedient if we met in say, an hour and a half? A location of your choosing, of course."

"Fine. I'll call you and let you know." She turned and Mouse, with one last look at myself and Ms. Gard, followed her.

~

The lights were on this time, when I dug my way out of the black hole of unconsciousness. Softer, not as blazingly painful as before. It was still cold, but better. Chilly, rather than almost arctic. I coughed, throat and mouth dry. The woman was there, leaning over me and frowning.

"He needs some water."

"I'm busy!" His voice came from the other side of the room, distant and a little echoing. How big was this place? I tried to turn my head and couldn't. I was still strapped down, pinned.

"Well you can't expect _me_ to do it. That's sexist." There was the clatter of a pen against metal and a chair scraping over the floor.

"How is it sexist to expect you, who is sitting around doing nothing, to give the subject some goddamned water?" She didn't answer, just stared out across my body. At him, I guessed. "Fine. Fine. Never mind. I'll do it. Just like I do everything else around here."

He appeared, a cup in his hands. He reached into it and brought out a few chips of ice. I clenched my teeth together and glared at him when he brought the chips to my lips.

"Every time. _Every_ time. You're all so _ungrateful_. I'm not going to poison you, Thirteen. You're too valuable. But I don't have to give you any water, or anything else. You're getting fluids through the IV. This is for _your_ comfort." He looked up at the woman, who gave an amused shake of her head. "Fine." The fingers of his other hand dug into the corners of my jaw, forcing my mouth open. He shoved the ice into my mouth, hard and fast enough that I started to choke, coughing as they slid too far back into my mouth, my throat. I finally forced myself to swallow a few, giving me enough room to wedge the others between my gums and my cheeks so I could breathe.

The man waited, I guessed to make sure I wasn't going to choke to death. When he saw I'd managed, he slapped the cup down on a table or something and stalked away. I let the ice melt, coating my throat and making that rough, sandpaper pain fade. I had plenty of others. My body felt like a giant bruise, muscles aching from having been tensed for a long time. The pain in my leg, where he'd cut me before was a dull, pounding wave. I focused on it, for a minute. That wasn't right. It should have hurt more. I'd been hurt before, cut badly, beaten. I hurt, but I wasn't in enough pain for what I thought had been done to me.

"Better?" The woman smiled down at me, her face friendly, but her eyes...there was something wrong with them. I didn't look for too long. I didn't want to see what was in there if I didn't have to.

"Yes." My voice was a rough, grating whisper, but it was there. I fished around for something. I was thinking more clearly than before, but things were still oddly muddled, mixed up and distant. I reached my will out, slowly, for my magic. It was there, swirling around, but I couldn't grasp it. It was too fast, or I was too slow. I'd been kidnapped, I thought. That's what the flashes of memory were from. I didn't recognize either of these people. Were they hired to attack me? They didn't seem like professionals. I needed to do something, start figuring out how to get away. Didn't they always try to humanize the victim, on tv? Make the abductors think of them as people? "My name's Harry."

"Oh, I know. Harry Dresden. I'm Diana, and he's-"

" _Stop talking to him_!" Something was flung across the room. It shattered against the wall beside her head. She winced, ducking. Tiny splinters of glass rained down, some of the larger ones shooting back across my face. I flinched, hissed in pain as some of them cut me.

"He's _gruuummmppyyy_!" She laughed as the glass settled. "Not enough sleep. I told you."

"I'll sleep when I'm done. This would go faster if you would help. Or at least stop distracting me."

"Sorry!" Diana rolled her eyes in my direction. She leaned closer, so she could speak without him hearing. "It hasn't been going well, you know. The prior subjects weren't very helpful, and then he messed up. Four got found, and he had to delay everything. It's made him snappish."

Footsteps, and then he was back, leaning over me. I opened my mouth and she caught my eyes, shaking her head and making a throat slitting gesture. I took the hint and stayed silent. For the moment.

"So?" Diana leaned her elbows on the table I was lying on, her skin brushing against mine. He did something, began tightening the straps around my wrists, making his way around my body, tightening everything until they cut into me, the pressure making my blood pound as it fought past the constrictions.

"It's good. There was a nice reaction to the preliminary samples. I think we can move forward."

"Oh, oh good." Diana practically beamed down at me. "I knew you'd be the right choice!" I heard the thick 'snicksnicksnick' of scissors cutting through cloth and then cold air blew across my chest. I felt the cloth of my shirt sliding off my skin and I shivered at the sensation. The lights reflected off of the blade he raised over my body and then it flashed down. Pain flared up in a line over my ribs and I shouted, tried to pull away.

"Hey! Hey, wait! Wait a second!" Another line of pain, deeper, up along my collar bone. "Stop!" I babbled, trying to find the right words to make him stop, just for a second. He didn't stop. My voice gave out, the little relief I'd gained earlier gone. The pain was there, sharp and real even through the fuzz that covered my thoughts, and it grew, warm and liquid across my skin as the blood flowed.

I had no way to track the time and my mind skittered away from trying to count the cuts. Eventually it stopped. I don't know when. I know that I realized he'd stopped cutting, at some point, but it could have been ten seconds before, or ten minutes. There came that same light pressure at my elbow as I fought to breathe through a throat tight with pain. Plastic or glass clacked loudly beside my ear and then he was gone, moved away across the room again.

Diana knelt beside me, putting her lips near enough to my ear that I could feel the tiny puffs of cold air raised by her breath.

"I'm sorry. I know you don't believe me, but it's true. I really am sorry we have to hurt you." Cold fingers brushed through my hair, pulling it away from my face, out of my eyes. I'd have pulled away if I could, but I lacked the strength, even without being tied down. "It just works so much better when you're hurting. I don't know why."

"Diana!" She heaved a sigh.

"Get some rest, Thirteen." And then she was gone.

~

_Green Valley County Forest Preserve_

"This is boring."

"It's not boring. Just sit in the tower and shut up. You're a princess. Princesses don't talk."

"I don't wanna be the princess, Billy. I wanna be the knight!"

"You can't be the knight." The boy, maybe eleven, glared up at his sister. She sat in the crook of the tree he was digging around, her glare just as strong as his.

" _Why_ can't I be the knight?"

"Because it's Tommy's turn! You can be the knight next time. Now let me finish the moat, okay?"

"I'm not gonna forget. I get to be the knight next."

"Yeah, yeah." He returned his attention to the ground and the rough circle he was digging. Tommy, the knight for the day, would be showing up any second to rescue Laurie, assuming she didn't really get bored and jump down and run off again.

The impact of his shovel against something hard beneath the dirt shot up his arm, making him wince and mutter a curse that would get him grounded if his mother heard it.

"Stupid rocks." He brushed the dirt off the rock, clearing its grey-white surface until he could see the edges of it. Then he dug in around it with his hands, trying to yank it out quickly, so he could get done before he had to defend his tower.

"Billy!" Laurie tossed a small pebble at his head. He grunted and ignored her. His sister made a terrible princess. Billy leaned back, pulling against the earth, and with a soft, dry popping sound, the rock finally came free. Billy stumbled and fell back, the rock still clutched in his hands.

"Dammit!" He tossed the rock off to one side without looking at it, dusting his hands off and rising.

"Billy? Billy, what's that?" He looked up at Laurie, whose eyes were wide, staring in the direction he'd thrown the rock.

"It's just a rock, dummy." He glanced that way himself, as he leaned down to pick up his shovel. It wasn't a rock. It was kind of cracked, with pieces missing, and it didn't look quite like the ones he'd seen in pirate movies, but Billy knew what it was. "Go get mom."

"But-"

"Go!" Laurie jumped from her perch and took off through the trees. Billy stayed and looked between the human skull he'd pulled from the dirt and the hole it had come from.

~

_Tuesday afternoon_

"May I speak to Sheriff Dearborn?" The deputy behind the counter looked up into the steady, unnerving regard of the two men in front of him. Both were dark, though one, the one who had spoken, was taller, thin. He was paler than his companion, unsmiling and cold. The other man at least made the effort to smile in an attempt to dispel some of the predatory aura that surrounded the two of them. 

"You must be the FBI team." It was a relief to see the sheriff walk up behind the two, to have those gazes, which seemed to look right through him directed elsewhere. He slumped a little, never having realized that he'd tensed up when the two had come in.

"Sheriff? I'm SSA Hotchner and this is SSA Rossi." The men shook hands, nodding at one another in turn.

"Glad you could make it so quick. We've set up one of the back conference rooms for you to use." He led the way to the largest room in the station. "These are the files your assistant said you'd need. Are there- I'm sorry, but, are any more agents coming?"

"The other members of our team are headed out for the burial site. Agents Morgan and Reid will join us here shortly."

"Alright. We've found two more bodies since last night, which brings us up to nine. Some of them are old, almost a year in the ground according to my ME's estimation and the newest one we've located was buried maybe a month and a half ago. We've id'd four of them. So far no one local, but they've all been from the surrounding area, and they've all gone missing within the last year."

~

"It's not easily accessible." Morgan looked up from where he was crouching, watching Spencer wander around the dump site. The younger man didn't go far, no more than five feet or so in any direction from where Morgan remained. Nervous. Still wounded and grieving from Prentiss' death, like the rest of them. But Spencer was different. Oddly vulnerable, in spite of his brilliance.

"He wasn't in a hurry, that's for sure. The road is about two miles back that way. He'd have had to drive in, park, and carry the body each time, plus his equipment. He's comfortable in the area. He knows the grounds, knows the routine. He knew he wasn't going to be interrupted."

"There's no effort to hide the reality of what he's done from himself. The bodies are buried, but they weren't covered up beforehand. It shows a lack of remorse."

"But not a complete disdain for the authorities. He needs to keep going, so he hid the bodies in the best place he could find. But there's no regard for the victims themselves." He held up a slim pack of pictures, taken of the bodies as they were uncovered. "Perfunctorily wrapped, for ease of transport, but then dumped into the holes and covered. He was done with them and they didn't mean anything any more. Trash. Just a detail to be cleaned up before he could go hunting for the next one. The park isn't regularly patrolled?"

"Not after sundown, no. There's nothing to steal and no dangerous features to the land, so they've never had a reason to lock it down."

"They've got one now." Morgan rose, stretching his legs. "Let's go meet with Hotch and Rossi. See what they've come up with."

~

The map was marked with twelve red thumbtacks, each mark one of their victims. There was a thirteenth marker, but Murphy had used blue for Harry. She remembered what he'd told her, when he was explaining the silliness with the PlayDoh before the fear monsters attacked. Blue was for protection. It was silly, and she knew it, but she did it anyway.

"They've located nine bodies in the preserve. With the one that was found in Crabtree Park last month, that gives us ten. They'll probably find the last two somewhere in the same area as the other nine." She glanced back over her shoulder at Marcone, who stood a few steps behind her, one hand in his suit pocket, turning something in it over and over.

"Woodridge is the center of the pattern." Murphy resisted the urge to say something smart. Working with Marcone so closely was getting on her nerves, but he'd been right. They'd have a better chance of saving Harry if they worked together.

"Yes. And once the FBI makes the connection between the body that was found in Woodridge and the ones in the preserve, they'll realize that as well."

"The question being whether or not they will realize it in time to do Harry any good." He seemed to realize that he was fiddling with the thing in his pocket and stopped abruptly, withdrawing his hand to clasp it behind his back.

"They need the information we've put together. I can call Rick, my ex. Get him to get us in to see these profilers they've sent down. If we can get them to believe us, we can at least point them in the right direction sooner."

"No. It would take too long to convince them that way. These are not people used to dealing in the fantastic. They will want proof, which we cannot provide in the time we have." Something shifted over his face, the barest hint of an emotion. Irritation was close, but not strong enough for what she saw. He did not like what he had decided to do, that much was very clear. "I will make some calls, Ms. Murphy. If you could contact Mr. Carpenter and let him know to meet us here as soon as he may?" He turned and walked through the door, into his office. It closed behind him with a heavy thud.

~

I was starting to lose track of time, of the days. I slept a lot, if dropping unconscious from pain or being drugged into it counted as sleep. Sometimes the lights were out, when I opened my eyes. I was beginning to look for those times, to feel a floating sense of relief when I didn't feel the heat of the lights against my skin. If the lights were out, they weren't in the room. Diana and her partner.

Hunger had started to dig sharp burrs into my gut, my stomach cramping, absolutely empty. It was just a duller, more pervasive pain beneath the wounds that had been sliced into me. He'd broken two, maybe three of the fingers on my right hand. Everything hurt, but still not as much as it should. The IV. It was pumping me full of drugs, keeping me quiet. Keeping me alive for him. For them.

The dark periods were the best. There was no new pain, and there was time to pull my thoughts together, through the pain, through the drugs and the hunger and the thirst. He'd said the IV was giving me fluid, and maybe it was. But that didn't stop my throat and mouth from burning, from telling me that I needed a drink. Something cold and wet. Relief. But without them, without the lights and the flashing of the blade, the dizziness that was growing over everything else, I could push past that for a while, and do something.

Magic was still beyond me, still just that tiny bit out of reach. But he'd thrown something, something glass and it had shattered. Was that yesterday? Two days ago? I wasn't sure anymore. He hadn't cleaned up very well. And a piece, maybe two inches long, had ricocheted under me. It hurt, the edges cutting through the rags of my shirt, into the skin of my back. I wiggled, when it was dark. Pushed it along with my body. I could just feel it with my thumb, if I twisted. A little more, and I would have it.

~

_Wednesday morning_

"Where's Hotch?" Spencer looked around the conference room. The rest of the team was there, going over the evidence, their theories. Morgan looked away from the wall they had pinned the photos of the burial site too. Most of the pictures of the victims bodies now had a head shot or a family photo tacked up next to it. The dead were being identified.

"He's in the sheriff's office with some visitors." He nodded his head in the general direction of the office in question. Reid could see that the door was closed, the blinds shut so that the only thing visible was a vague, moving shadow.

The closed office door opened, an abrupt explosion of movement and Reid watched as Hotch held the door open for a short, about five feet tall, lovely blonde woman. She headed straight for him, her face and body set in tense, determined lines. Not aggressive, but strong, determined. And focused. If he was in her way, she'd remove him. If he was going to be helpful, she'd use him.

She was followed by a tall man, maybe six foot two, with black hair going grey in an uneven pattern. He had brilliant blue eyes and a neatly kept beard. There was strength there, but it was a steady, unwavering kind. Not something that would flare up into anger or rash action. He put off the impression peace and belonging in the same way that some people radiated frantic energy or anger, or danger. But there was also the same impression of determination that was in the woman.

Hotch's posture shifted. Where he'd been merely tolerant of the man and the woman, the third person coming through the door made him go stiff, restrained and angry. Discontent rolled off of him, though his face and the tone of his voice gave away nothing. The second man was about the same height as the quiet one, his black hair greying at the temples, almost too perfect in its pattern and placement. The grey didn't match the smoothness of his skin, nor the ease of his movements. Younger than he wanted to appear, though he did not want to give the impression of feebleness that might come with greater age. The man was sure of himself, his every movement contained power, held back from action just for the moment. Cold, on the surface. He reminded Reid a good deal of Hotch himself - both men who assumed control whether or not anyone around them thought they should. And then proved that they did, in fact, deserve it and more.

Which would help explain Hotch's attitude toward him. He'd learned to work with Rossi, only because Rossi had abdicated the leadership role willingly. This man would not. Reid turned, ducked back from the door as it became clear that the group was heading for the conference room. A minute later, Hotch entered, his face a mask of control once more.

The second man, whose eyes were an odd shade of green, followed close on Hotch's heels, his face bland, but his body language radiating a sense of urgency. They all were, now that he could see them more closely. Hotch made the introductions, and if he had been anyone else the name 'John Marcone' would have been said through gritted teeth. As it was, only the team, who knew each other intimately, were capable of understanding the undercurrents of his tone and movement. Though Reid suspected that Mr. Marcone knew how Hotch felt about him. In spite of his clear mission oriented attitude, his polite smile was tinged with a small bit of amusement.

"Mr. Marcone has some information that he believes is pertinent to our case. Director Fickler sent him to us." And that would be the other half of Hotch's problem with the man.

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner." Hotch stepped aside, slightly, to rejoin his team physically. John Marcone stepped into the gap, his two companions standing behind him. The woman, Karrin Murphy, looked unhappy to be there, but again the determination to follow through with her course impressed Reid. The other man, Michael Carpenter, looked simply patient, though Reid thought he could detect the faintest hints of concern beneath the calm facade.

"As I explained to Agent Hotchner, in the course of some business proceedings, one of my people stumbled across what we thought might be some helpful information. If you look at your tablets, you'll find that we have already sent all the data we gathered to your Ms. Garcia. I'm certain that you'll want to go over the details there, but if I could ask that you put that off for a moment? There are certain to be facts that mean something to you, with your expertise that we have overlooked. However, the most important fact I can give you is his choice of prey."

"The unsub doesn't appear to have a type. We have victims of both genders, varying ages and races. Different social circles, economic levels, and risk factors." Morgan was already flipping through the information on his screen, interrupting without bothering to look up from it.

"Yes. I am aware of this. What your own research has failed, thus far, to turn up is the fact that all of the victims were members of the occult societies in their respective home towns. Your 'unsub', as you call him, is hunting people who he believes possess magical talents."

"The 'occult' community is made up of people who follow non-standard religious traditions. They don't believe that they have 'magical powers'. These people are just some of those who don't fit neatly into the monolithic traditional faiths." Morgan finally looked up, his dark eyes focusing entirely on Marcone. It was an unsettling thing, to have all of Derek Morgan's considerable experience and attention brought to bear on you, men had broken under it before, when he put a little effort in. Marcone didn't seem to notice it, though Reid was certain that he had. He noticed everything that went on around him.

"True. That, as I'm certain you realize, is not the point. Whether or not these people believed themselves that they had any sort of power, I would say that it is clear their murderer does, or he believes that there is something special about them." He shook his head, unsmiling. "All of that is background detail, at this point. This is not simply a hunt for a killer who will strike again at some point. He has already abducted his next victim.

"His name is Harry Dresden, an acquaintance of mine. Someone heavily involved in the occult community in Chicago. He was abducted from outside of his office sometime Sunday evening." Marcone continued to speak, with Morgan and Rossi interjecting on occasion with a question. Karrin and Michael moved closer to Marcone, answered some questions that he did not seem to have a ready answer for. Interesting. They were close friends of the missing man, whereas Marcone was seemingly on the outside of the group, yet he was the one leading the investigation. Reid tuned it out, as much as he did anything, filing the conversation away to review later.

He flicked through the information on his screen until he came to the very brief entry on Harry Dresden. The lack of tangible information about the man was the most intriguing part and he found himself examining the one picture included very closely. Tall, exceptionally so, and thin in a way that almost looked unhealthy. Dresden had been glaring at the camera, or perhaps the photographer, as if he expected one or the other of them to explode at any second. Wary, with his eyes looking off just slightly to one side, not quite meeting the center point where most would look.

Morgan's voice began to rise, slightly, in volume and Reid hurried to send a note to one of Garcia's less than official email addresses, asking for the information she had dug up on Mr. John Marcone before he set the tablet down and slipped back into the conversation, diverting Morgan before he found some bait that one of the guests would rise to. It was an informative technique, usually, but Reid doubted that it would end well with these people.

~

She sang off key, and only old songs. My head swam and I'd stopped really screaming days ago. Maybe days? Or hours. The singing was important, for some reason. I held on to it, tried to follow the lyrics, when she knew them, or the tune. It was something solid, like the straps and the piece of glass I could feel beneath my palm.

It was smooth and sharp, in the dark times, when they left. They went somewhere, I was pretty sure. I thought I'd heard a car engine, once. Work, maybe? Or did they have some other place where they kept someone to cut up and bleed? A little string of cold rooms with a man tied down so he could slice him open, break little bones, hit him and choke him and hurt him until he was tender and soft so they could take his blood, because it was better when the man was hurting, it worked better and that meant something too, but it slipped away from me, metal under blood as I worked the piece of glass out from under my hand and twisted at a bad angle, slowly trying to saw at the strap on my wrist.

I thought it was working. I cut myself, but a little more blood didn't mean anything, but I thought that I was getting somewhere. A little give in the tiny bit of movement I had. It was something else that was hard to keep track of. If they went away, they went away for a long time, maybe hours, but I couldn't keep going the whole time. I faded out, then back in, the blackness behind my eyes filled with monsters, the blackness of the room filled with peace. Somehow, it was getting harder to keep the two kinds of darkness apart.

~

_Thursday morning_

They'd been gone for a while, this time. He'd come in, before. Earlier. Without her. After that, there'd been sounds, faint but louder than they'd ever been before. Coming from someplace else. Someplace outside of the room. Which meant that there was someplace outside of the room. Something I'd started to question.

I'd worked, while I listened and I thought it would only take a little more. My piece of glass was worn almost completely dull, but there was give in the strap. Enough that I thought I could get my hand free. There'd been his voice, silence, a door opening and closing and then a car, the engine whining and fading away until it was gone.

I waited, in the dark that was never really dark anymore. There were too many colors in it, bright streamers of light that pulsed and writhed through the air when I looked. Time was an even more iffy concept than light and dark, but I thought I'd waited long enough. They were gone, and I didn't think that I should wait any more.

I pulled, my wrist and hand bloody and maybe slick with it, though it felt sticky enough that it had been there for a while. I was on the floor, my back against a wall. My hands were black, covered in explosions of red and black lights. It was beautiful. I felt like I'd been staring at the lights for a long time, and I forced myself to look up, to look away.

The room was still the not-dark of when the lights were out, but I could see vague shapes, lit up by the multicolored streamers. It screamed. The whole room was a giant, gaping mouth, screaming. I didn't see it before, because I was in the middle of it. But here, over by the door to the rest of the world, I could. The place where I'd been trapped was covered with people, insubstantial, but I could see them, their bodies torn, bleeding without color, forever. Blood on the walls, an inch thick on the floor, everywhere. Faces in the blood, the same ones that were floating, screaming.

I shut my eyes.

"Stop it." I tried to speak, but it came out a horrid, breathless croak. I didn't want to see this. I wanted it to stop. My nerves jangled, nausea biting me even through the hollow cramps and something snapped. Pressure eased, somewhere behind my eyes.

I shivered, freezing again and part of me wanted to curl up and sob, relief unfurling through me, though I didn't know why. Nothing had changed, I was still here. I needed to get out. I opened my eyes and stared around the room. Dark. The lights were gone, the blood was gone, except for some spots leading over to where I sat. The faces were gone. But they could come back.

My right hand throbbed, the dull, persistent pain of broken bones that hadn't been set right. I used my back, untouched since he hadn't ever untied me and my left arm and shoved myself to my feet again. The darkness greyed out, the room swaying.

Hands touched me, rolled me over.

"Holy shit. Hey, hey are you- can you hear me?" It was hot, bright light against my eyes, the dark negative of a person above me, and I panicked. I had collapsed and he was back. I tried to fight. I wasn't going back. My body didn't want to move and I could hear myself making small, helpless sounds. I tried to stop those, but I couldn't do that either. "Okay. It's okay. Hang on, alright?" The hands moved away and something soft, light was laid on me. It hurt, but then everything hurt. "Josh! Call the fucking police!"

~

"Our unsub has some basic medical training. Look for someone who-" The door to the conference room opened and one of the deputies hurriedly walked over to the sheriff. The officers pulled their attention away from the profilers, watching the sheriff's face.

"Agent Hotchner? Mr. Marcone? If I could speak to you for a second?" The two men crossed the room, huddling up with the sheriff and his deputy. After a minute they broke.

"What is it?" Murphy hissed the question at Marcone, barely resisting the urge to grab him by the arm and shake him.

"A man fitting Harry's description was found on the front porch of a small home about three miles out of town. He's unconscious, and was incoherent the few times he did regain consciousness."

"He's alive?" Hope, something that they'd all been keeping a tight rein on stretched through them.

"The man had no identification on him, Ms. Murphy. We need to head down to the hospital."

"How many 7 foot tall-"

"Karrin." Michael stepped forward, put a hand on her shoulder. She narrowed her eyes, but let him speak. He'd been silent, praying she guessed, most of the time. "John is correct. If it is Harry, then we need to get to the hospital to be certain that he is protected and that they don't put him near anyone on life support. If it is not Harry, then perhaps this victim will be able to guide us in the right direction."

~

"Did you see where he came from?"

"No sir. Like I said, we came back from the grocery store and he was just there, right in front of the door. I thought he was dead at first. Like he'd been in an accident and somehow wandered off from it. You hear about that sort of thing. Only he was still breathing." The young man, Phil, shook his head and looked back at his front door. Morgan followed his gaze, taking in the smears of blood. The local crime scene techs were all over the place, taking samples and photographs. "He can't have come very far though, like that. We don't have a whole lot of neighbors out here. One of the reasons we bought the place. Peace and quiet."

"What about your neighbors?"

"Um. Well, there's the Pearsons, down at the end of the road," He nodded his head in the direction they'd all come. "But they're eighty something. I can't see them- I don't think they could do _that_ , even if they wanted to. Which they wouldn't. They're good people. Uh...the Brinkman's, but they're out of town. Visiting the grandkids in Florida, I think. And...hey Josh? Do you know the name of the guy who moved into the house down at the end?"

"I don't think so. He works weird hours. Never home during the day and he hasn't come to any of the holiday parties anyone's thrown." Both men met Morgan's eyes.

"That's it. Like I said, there's no one out here."

"This neighbor, what's he look like?" Phil shrugged.

"Just a guy. Maybe in his forties? Brown hair, dark eyes. We've never really met, you know? Just seen him around, mowing the yard, stuff like that."

~

"I'm working on having him transferred to a private facility as soon as possible." Murphy looked up from Harry, her hand hovering over his, wanting to touch but afraid to. He was out again. There'd been a few minutes where he'd opened his eyes and stared around the room, but he hadn't seen her. Not really. And then he'd dropped out of consciousness again.

"Are they going to let you do that?"

"They are. I have- they have somehow become convinced that I have power of attorney. The FBI will like it less, but we will deal with them when we have to."

"Good. That'll make it easier to guard him."

Marcone gave her a small smile.

"No lecture about using illegal methods to get what I want?"

"Not this time."

Marcone moved to the other side of the bed and they stood watching Harry for a few minutes. Michael had stepped out of the room to call his wife, to speak to Molly and let her know that Harry was alive. Murphy kept one eye on Marcone, which is how she caught the small movement of him sliding something under Harry's hand where it lay on the thin sheets. "What's that?"

Marcone looked up and his face darkened, a little. Flushed. Embarrassed, if he'd been a normal person.

"His amulet."

~

_Thursday late afternoon_

The house was set back in a small yard, compared to its neighbors. But there was plenty of shade from the old trees that surrounded it. Plenty of privacy. It was a house that begged to be overlooked. Not run down and not overly decorated. The yard was neat, with no toys or broken down bits of detritus that sometimes gathered in busy households. It had no personality, no sign of who lived there. And that gave it an unnatural, ominous air. Too perfect. Too clean.

Except for the blood that spattered in little groups, smeared in other places where Dresden had clearly fallen and forced himself back up. The front door didn't gape open, but it had swung to, not closing completely and there was blood there as well, a hand print on the doorjamb, a partial one on the handle.

Morgan nudged the door open, pressing it back until it hit the wall behind it. The house was cold, the air conditioner could be heard laboring away. It was cold enough that goosebumps broke out on his arms even through the long sleeved shirt he wore. Rossi followed him, his eyes moving over every detail, filing it away for later analysis.

They cleared the rooms, moving through the house without touching anything they didn't have to. The interior of the house matched the exterior - a showroom, to the point where it became uncomfortable. Doors stood open, but nothing seemed out of magazine perfect place. Nothing human lived there, but something that pretended to be did. It had all the trappings, but none of the feeling.

That changed when they reached the last door on the ground floor. This door was open as well, a heavier wood than anything else, the room beyond clearly an addition. It probably wasn't even visible from the road, so that unless someone was taken and shown it, they'd likely never notice it existed.

The room beyond was nearly barren, containing only a metal table with heavy canvass straps, one sawed nearly all the way through, the others hanging with their clasps released. Blood stood out clearly on them once Rossi flipped the lights on. Across from the table was a set up that looked like Dr. Frankenstein's idea of a chemistry lab. There was blood there, too, but in proper, labeled vacutainers. They were all labeled in the same neat, blocky hand writing, each label starting with '#13' and followed by a string of numbers and letters.

"It reminds me of the evidence file numbers. Each case has its alpha-numerical strings that cross-reference to the different pieces of evidence." Rossi opened a lower file drawer. It was half full, thick expanding files stuffed to bursting with paperwork. They too were labeled with the same sort of numbering system seen on the vials, starting with a '#' and a number, one through twelve. More empty hanging files were in the back. An unlabeled folder, in the very front, held dvd's, their cases and surfaces unmarked.

“He's been through here.” Morgan nodded down at one of the bloody spots. It had been stepped in, bloody shoe prints moving the opposite direction from the door. “He came back, found Dresden escaped, and ran. He grabbed a few things and left. Damn.” He turned for the door. “I'll get a BOLO out for him. He's not coming back.”

~

Things were different. There was still a faint chill, the medicinal cold, but it wasn't the same. I tried to move and found that I could. It hurt like hell, in the distant, on the good drugs kind of way, but I could move. I forced my eyes open and found myself staring up at a hospital ceiling.

My throat was dry and I coughed, thin and raspy. Someone moved, the sound of a chair scraping against linoleum and there was the rattle of ice in a plastic cup. A dark shadow fell over me and I was back, back in the room, with him. Everything, every second of it came rushing back in perfect, horrendous detail. 

I was still screaming when it stopped. The faces fading into ethereal vapor. A strong arm was around my shoulders, holding me up so I didn't choke on my own vomit. I was sweaty, stinky, and the rawness of my throat burned like I'd swallowed acid.

“Harry?” Michael. I collapsed backward and found that he had raised the bed so I was sitting up at an angle. Vomit spattered his t-shirt.

“Sorry.” It came out like a faint breath of air. He smiled and shook his head.

“It's nothing, Harry. I have some ice here, or some water, if you'd like.”

“Water.” Michael produced a clear glass with a bendy straw. I sipped, slow and careful, the water feeling like heaven on my throat, but too cold, too solid in my stomach. When I let the straw fall from my lips Michael moved it out of sight.

“You are safe, Harry. Karrin and I are taking turns sitting with you. She's just down in the cafeteria getting something to eat. They also have a deputy in the hallway.” It wasn't enough. Fear churned through me, illogical and implacable. “Mouse is safe. As soon as the doctors say that it's safe to move you, we're going to take you to a private facility. Arrangements have already been made for Mouse to stay with you. The authorities...the FBI and the police are looking for him.”

“He's-” I coughed, wetly this time. “Loose?” Michael closed his eyes, gathering his strength.

“Yes. Sometime after you escaped but before they tracked your path back to his house he returned and found you missing. He fled. But they will find him, Harry. They know his name, his face. 

“What about her?”

“Her? Was there another captive?” His eyes widened, alarmed.

“No. I don't think so. Diana worked with him.” I tried not to, but her name brought her face back, the morbid grin she always wore. Her joking, laughing eyes as he cut into me, silent so that she could fill in the emptiness. It was too vivid. The painful clarity of memories that would never fade. I wanted to push them away, but the drugs messed with my concentration too much. I had to ride them out. Michael was half out of his seat when I opened my eyes again.

“I'm going to have to go inform the deputy that there was a woman, Harry. I don't believe that they know about her. Will- I can wait for Karrin to return.”

“No. I'll- you'll just be right by the door. I'll be fine.”

“Okay. I'll be just a second. I'll call a nurse, while I'm at it. Get you cleaned up. The doctors will want to look at you, now that you're awake. And the FBI will want to speak-” I felt my skin go cold, tired. Michael had to have seen it because he broke off, raising his hands. “Too much. I'm sorry. Nurse and doctor. The rest can wait.”

The air conditioner must have kicked on. There was a sudden, chilly breeze and I slid my left hand under the thin sheets. My right had all the wires in it, my broken fingers splinted, my hand and wrist in a cast. There was something beneath the covers. My fingers, clumsy with the old damage and the new weakness of my body bumped into it. I made a startled sound and drew back. Nothing happened, so I slid my fingers forward again. It wasn't until it was beneath my palm that I recognized the object.

My amulet.

When Michael came back, I had to reassure him that I wasn't feeling any pain. I did let him pat gently at my eyes, to clear the tears away. 

~

"Office of perpetual awesome. How may I enrich your life today, sweetness?"

"Garcia, there may be a woman working with the suspect. Can you track down any Diana, or maybe Dianes?” The tech made a derisive sound.

“I can find creepoid's first pet. Hang on.” The clatter of keys echoed up the phone. “Right. Charles Brite. Forty-five years old, LPN. Local boy. He was born and raised in the area. Only child, parents both deceased, natural causes. No criminal record. Not even so much as a parking ticket. Never married. No- oh.”

“What?”

“Well, honey, I found a Diana. Diana Hutton. She and Chucky were high school sweethearts. He proposed at their senior prom. Aw. That's...you should see the photo. They made all sorts of news. They don't look evil and creepy.”

“Where is she now?” More keys as Garcia drew the information out of the ether.

“She can't be your girl, Reid.”

“Why not?”

“She's been dead for twenty years. Right after they graduated high school. Diana had a problem with speeding, ten tickets in the last two years of high school alone. Too bad they didn't yank her license. Looks like she was coming home from a party, took a turn too fast and that was it. They found her the next day. Coroner said she died on impact, at least.”

“Keep looking.”

“Will do, cutie. Later.”

“Wait! What about the other request, information on Mr. Marcone.” 

“No can do, Doctor Reid.” Garcia's voice became louder and more hushed at the same time. Like she was leaning into her headphone somehow. “All of the files on one Mr. John Marcone of Chicago are super secret quadruple sealed, to be opened only in case of apocalypse.”

“That's never stopped you before.”

“Yeah. Well, I've never had a visit from the Director, personally, before either. To tell me, very nicely, to back the fuck off or find myself in a prison with no name. I'm not kidding here, Reid.”

“Penelope...”

“No.” The line clicked as she disconnected.

~

_Friday morning_

“It's over, Charlie.” Diana sat on the tiny diner table, looking back and forth between Charles, ducked down behind the long counter and the police outside, their lights bubbling back and forth, painting the room in drunken colors.

“Get. Down!” She sighed and jumped off the table, walking across the small space to climb up on one of the stools, lean over the counter so that she could see him.

“They're not going to shoot _me_ sweetie. But if you don't turn yourself in, they're going to shoot you.”

“I can't. I can't finish, if I'm in prison.”

“You can't finish if you're dead, either. And besides, once they see the evidence, they'll understand. They'll have to help you, even.” He looked up, met her laughing eyes.

“You think?”

“I know. And have I ever lied to you?”

“Yeah. That one time, you said you'd give me the answers to the Lit test. You gave me the wrong answers.”

“That was a lesson. When it really counts?”

“No.”

“Okay. Turn yourself in. Go out, hands up. They'll take you in and then you can explain it all. They'll see.”

He nodded and rose, his legs cramped from his extended crouch. Hands in the air, even though he wasn't sure they could see him yet, he walked for the door. Diana followed, her heels like gunshots on the tile. The door slid open for them and he walked out into the bright morning light. 

It glinted off of the guns aimed at him. One of the men, tall, pale with dark hair moved forward, his gun away, but the holster open. He glanced away from them, to see Diana. She gave him an encouraging nod, biting her lip.

“I want to su-”

~

Charles Brite, who had remained barricaded into the small diner they'd tracked him down to two hours ago had walked out, unarmed. Hotch had ordered everyone to hold off. It was always better to take them alive. There was always the possibility of more murders that hadn't been connected to that particular unsub yet. Answers for families to be gained.

He had moved forward, to speak, to take the man in to custody when the back of the man's head exploded. The scene became chaos, everyone hitting the ground, waiting for the next shot. It never came. Hotch, when the itching sensation of being watched, the waiting for the flash of pain so brief you might not even notice it had faded to background concerns, rose into a crouching walk and hurried over to the fallen man. 

He was dead, of that there could be no question. There was a small blackened and reddish mark above one staring eye. But for that, his face was unmarred. The round had made a mess exiting though. Hotch didn't turn him over, but there was blood and something thicker, gelatinous spattered around them.

Hotch looked up, around at the building surrounding them. No obvious shine of the sun against a sniper rifle met him. The sheriff and his men were already scrambling, setting out to secure the scene and find their shooter.

~

“Howdy, John.” I winced and pulled the phone from my ear, allowing a frown to settle in. Only one man addressed me in that fashion. In spite of all the things I had tried to get him to stop, my old teacher refused to change.

“Kincaid. Is there something I can do for you?” I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. The police had cornered the man who had tortured Harry. My opportunity to take him out personally had passed. That did not mean I was out of options. Once I knew where he would be held, arrangements could be made. 

“Not at all. Just called to say, 'you're welcome'. And Ivy really likes the acrylic paints you sent.” He hung up. Damn the man.

My phone rang again, the newly entered number of the sheriff's personal cell phone popping up. Two minutes later, I understood.

~

_Four months later_

“Dammit Marcone! Stop sending your fucking shrinks! I'm not going to talk to them!” His voice was still rough. The damage he'd done to his vocal cords would take some time to heal completely, but it was getting better. And he was starting to yell at me again. I ignored the small trickle of warmth that that thought caused. It was better than the way he'd been. Quiet, skittish, seemingly waiting for the next thing that would send him into a flashback. “And while I'm at it, what the fuck do they mean when they say you've got my power of attorney? I don't have one, and if I did, you sure as shit wouldn't have it!”

“Who told you that?” I could feel him blinking in the silence from the other end of the line.

“Agent Rossi. He was down here asking a few more questions. It came up. Don't dodge the question.” His voice was starting to go, cracking in places. I judged that it was time to end the call.

“I'll make you a deal, Harry. When you can come down to my office under your own power I'll explain everything. Until then, I'll see you on Friday. Don't give your trainer too hard a time or she'll bend you the wrong way.”

~

**TRANSCRIPT OF DVD RECORDING MARKED EX.35, CASE NUMBER 14-256C-IL**

“I'd learned to live without her. I really had. It wasn't ever the same, but I learned. Then I stopped by her grave. It was late and- I saw him. Saw him call her up. Diana dug her way out of her own grave and it was _her_. I followed him. He used her. He had others, but they weren't alive. Not like Diana. He brought her back from the dead. 

“All I wanted was to have her back. He wouldn't give her to me. Laughed. Said I didn't know what I was asking for. I hit him. He fell and they turned on him. Diana did too, but can you blame her? He'd raised her from the dead and then enslaved her. She hated him. 

“After it was over, the others went back to being all the way dead. No movement, nothing. But Diana, she held on. I know it's because she remembered me. She's stopped moving, now. I had to...I've done what I can to preserve her body. She'll need it, when she gets back. But she's not completely gone. I can hear her, in my head. Sometimes I see her, like she was. Not like she is. I'm going to fix it. I'm going to figure out what he did, and do it again. Bring her back.

“And then we can be together.”

**END TRANSCRIPT**


End file.
